A World Apart
by eumonigy
Summary: Josh Nichols wakes up in a world that is not his own. Slash.
1. Paths

**A World Apart **

_Prologue:  
Paths_

Audrey Parker had been having one of those days.

Drake's principal had called earlier to inform her that her son had been given a month's worth of detention that he was required to attend for hitting on a substitute teacher, she had forgotten to sign the permission slip for Megan's field trip and it seemed the world was coming to an end because of it, her boss was demanding she start showing up on time (rather than thirty seconds late), and, for the life of her, she could not find her keys.

As she walked down Main Street, her heels a sharp warning click to the people in front of her to _move out of the way_, she was overcome with a familiar urge. It was an urge she often succumbed to: the simple act of looking up at the sky and sighing angrily in frustration. She ignored the urge, however, because she needed to find her keys.

If Audrey Parker had looked up at the sky and sighed, she would have found several things happening in succession. First, she would have felt some relief from the overpowering stress that had started to cloud her mind around four that morning when she realized she'd forgotten to do the laundry and would have nothing to wear. The second would have been to give up the search for her keys, at least until she reached the car that she hoped she remembered where she had parked. The third would have been for her to glance across the street, through the window of a bookstore, where she'd see a book she'd been wanting to get for some time. She'd make a quick decision, cross the street, and enter the store, where her attention would be grabbed, not by the book, but by the intensely handsome man standing near the counter.

It would be instant chemistry. He would stand a little straighter, her broad shoulders squared, his dark hair starkly bringing out his strong cheeks and jaw. She would blush and smooth her coat, trying and failing to look uninterested, wondering when the last time she'd had a date was. At that moment, the rain would begin to pour down outside.

She would look back out the window, downtrodden, because she hadn't bothered to wear her raincoat. The weatherman was always wrong. A hand would touch her on the shoulder. She would look into his near poetic, military face, and he would offer his umbrella, gentlemanly.

"Please," he would say, "Please take it, if you have somewhere to be in a hurry." For he must have seen the look on her face.

She would shake her head. "No." He'd look disappointed and she'd smile. "No, but if it's not too much trouble, maybe you could walk me to my car?"

He would smile and hold out his hand, saying, "Of course. My name is John. John Marly."

And she would take his hand, shake gently, and say, "Audrey Parker."

And they would walk through the rain, a whole new path opening up for them.

Audrey Parker did not look up, though.

Instead, she continued rifling through her purse, the frustration building up inside her until she could barely stand it, and she became more angry than she had in a good long while. And then the sky opened up and poured down on her, and she let loose a string of curses (which she hadn't _used_ in a good long while) and she ducked into a dingy coffee shop in a foul temper. The next thing she knew, some moron had bumped into her, pouring his lukewarm drink down her blouse.

He apologized profusely, bumbling as he tried to help her clean her blouse. She swatted his hands away, because she was already soaked through, and what did it matter?

"I'm so, so sorry, miss, I'm so sorry, I... I didn't mean... It was... oh, I'm such an oaf!"

"It's alright!" She had snapped, angry. Upon seeing his wounded expression, she softened a bit. "It's alright. Just… Don't worry about it."

He nodded, his face sad and somehow familiar to her. She couldn't quite place it, but somehow familiar.

"Please." he said, voice strained, "Please send me the dry cleaning bill. Here, I'll write down my address for you. My name is Walter Nichols."

She paused. "Right. Walter Nichols, the weatherman." He nodded, goofily, pleased she recognized him.

They talked for a few minutes, mostly because she didn't want to head back out into the rain, and after he made her laugh (a few small, only half-forced laughs) he gathered his courage and asked her out on a date. Through a healthy does of pity for both him and herself, she agreed, and an only slightly altered path opened up for them.

Audrey Parker hadn't looked up.

But what if she had?

TBC

A/N: This first chapter went through several edits, because it was late at night when I wrote it and the tense threw me (it was like, two in the morning, okay?) so if there are any more errors, or if you think the tense sounds weird, please let me know! Thanks!


	2. In Circles

**A World Apart**

_Chapter One_  
_In Circles  
_

Drake woke suddenly.

He turned his head, slowly, groggily, searching for whatever had jarred him from sleep. The alarm clock's red glow informed him that it was three-thirty-six in the morning. He groaned, exhausted. But what woke him up?

A feeling of unease crept into the pit of his stomach. He rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the rush of irrational fear that suddenly filled his mind. His eyes adjusted to the extra darkness of the rest of the room. He could make out the outline of Josh, sleeping soundly in his bed not ten feet away. He hesitated a moment, knowing his stepbrother would be mad. He shrugged it off easily, though, and picked up the portable mouse that went to Josh's laptop, laying upside down on the platform. He tossed it expertly; it arched slowly through the air and landed with the barest of thumps on Josh's stomach.

The effect was immediate. Josh sat up in bed with a jolt, throwing the blankets off, tripping and proceeding to fall directly on his face.

"Immupimmup wasss goooin on?" Was the string of babble that erupted from him. Drake laughed. Josh sat up on the floor and looked around, confused. "It's dark."

"No kidding, Einstein," Drake replied. The owlish look cast at him only made him laugh more.

"What time is it?"

"Ummm," Drake leaned back to check his clock again. "Three-fortyish."

Josh's eyes narrowed into a glare. "And what, pray tell, impressed upon you the need to wake me up at three-forty in the morning when we have an English test tomorrow?"

Drake shook his head. Only Josh would remember an English test after being woken up at three in the morning. "Don't talk like that, dude. You sound like an ass." Josh sputtered, insulted, but was interrupted before any coherent words were formed. "I woke up."

"So you had to wake me up?"

"Yeah."

Josh sighed and relocated to the bed from the floor. "Why'd you wake up?"

"I dunno."

"Go back to sleep then."

"I can't," Drake exclaimed quietly, pulling his knees to his chest. "I have a bad feeling." Josh's glare intensified.

"You woke me up because you have a _feeling_?"

"A bad one, man." He tossed in a pout with the remark, certain that it would work. Like a charm; Josh's face softened to the consistency of vanilla pudding.

"What kind of feeling? Like, about Mom or Dad? Or Megan?"

Drake just shook his head. He couldn't explain it.

Josh thought for a moment. "Well… you wanna watch Blues Brothers?"

They shared a grin and hurried to the couch.

xxx

"But that's two hours away!" Josh complained, thrusting his backpack onto the counter with unnecessary force. The salt shaker toppled to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Josh," Walter looked apologetic, but his voice was stern. "Drake is already out, your mother has to work, and I have an important meeting with the station supervisor. Your great-grandfather needs this medication. You're the only one I can ask."

Josh didn't mention that Walter shouldn't use the term 'ask' so loosely. "I have homework to do!"

"If you leave now, you can get to Papa Nichols' and back before dinner. You'll have plenty of time to do your homework." Walter glanced at his watch and winced. "I have to go, but I _expect_ you to get that medication to Papa Nichols. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, dad," Josh mumbled unhappily. He watched his father exit the house, trying to keep the hostile expression off his face. Resigned to his fate, he grabbed the white medication bag, a banana, a bottle of water and his keys and headed out the door.

The drive was long and largely uneventful. Josh was still tired from watching The Blues Brothers with Drake until said boy fell asleep, and his eyes grew heavier with each passing mile. The sun was creeping behind the hills and trees, which didn't help the situation. He thought back to his driver's manual. He vaguely remembered something about pulling over if you were tired. _Like hell, _he thought vehemently. He had an hour's worth of math homework alone, and he wasn't going to waste one extra second on this stupid trip.

He turned off the highway, ticking off directions in his mind that he'd long since memorized. He was finishing off the last of his water when he turned down the familiar narrow road that led to Papa Nichols' house.

The way was drearily overgrown, blocking out the last of the faded sunlight. Josh felt his eyelids droop and shook himself sharply. It was only five at night and he was already exhausted. How was he going to possibly finish that report for Mrs. Hayfer? Not to mention his history assignment, or his chemistry work. He groaned silently.

"_Either tonight or tomorrow is a'goina be hell,_" he sang with the whiny acoustic solo seeping from the radio, sweeping one hand dramatically to the side. His arm hit the empty water bottle in the cup holder, knocking it to the floor where it rolled to rest against the gas petal. "Dammit," he sighed, "Why me?" He leaned down, trying to keep an eye on the road and reach the water bottle at the same time. An impossible feat. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" He took a short breath, like he was diving under water, and ducked his head down as quickly as possible, fingers closing around the plastic. "Gotcha, you _fiend_."

He lifted his head, grinning victoriously, and came face to face with a pair of headlights coming at him fast.

xxx

Drake leaned back from his intensive make out session with Laurie Tillman.

"What's wrong, Drake?" She asked concernedly.

"I dunno. My stomach hurts for some reason." His hand balled into a fist at his midsection. It felt like his heart had just dropped two stories and was now squirming in his intestines.

She made a face. "You're not, gunna, like, throw up or something, are you?"

Wordlessly, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed, his fingers knowing the keys faster than his brain did. It rang. Once, twice, three times. It rang three more times and then the voice mail kicked on. He waited patiently and pressed one when the automated system instructed him to. "Hey, Josh, it's Drake, call me back as soon as you can, okay?" He hung up and began kneading his disturbed stomach.

"Sorry, Laurie, I'm heading home." She didn't look amused. Drake didn't really care, he had a dozen other girls just like her at his beck and call.

What he cared about was the voice screaming in his head that something was very, very wrong.

xxx

Josh opened his eyes.

He squinted at the unfamiliar white ceiling. _Where…?_ He felt… different. But that thought was pushed away in favor of finding out his current location. He sat up and sudden recognition struck him. The white curtains over the double-pane window, the mahogany dresser, the sliding door to the closet, the full-length mirror. He was in his room.

Not the room he shared with Drake, but the room he'd had before Audrey and Walter had gotten married and the Parker residence had become the Parker-Nichols residence. The room in the apartment on Valley Avenue.

_But why am I here?_

He got to his feet, looking around in wonder at the room he'd never thought he'd see again. Their were minor changes; the walls were no longer covered in posters of his favorite magicians. In fact, they looked rather blank. There were a few photographs missing from his dresser. Other than that, though, it looked exactly the same.

He moved to open the top drawer of the dresser. Underwear, neatly folded. He went to open the second drawer, but caught his reflection in the mirror across the room and froze. He turned slowly, afraid to acknowledge the fear that took him.

As he greeted the image reflected at him, he knew with no uncertainty that something was very, very wrong.

TBC

A/N: Hello  Please let me know if there are any errors… I looked over it, but I've been known to miss some fairly obvious things. Some of the songs I listened to while writing this chapter were "Steal My Sunshine" by Len, "Groove Is In The Heart" by Deee-Lite, and "Boom Boom Ba" by Metisse. Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Keep Myself Awake

**A World Apart**

_Chapter Two  
__Keep Myself Awake_

Josh had fought a long, uphill battle to shed the weight problem that had hounded him for the first fifteen years of his life. It had been a struggle, but pound by pound he gained the upper hand, until he was quite satisfied with the size and shape of his body.

The mirror may as well have been laughing at him.

It wasn't like he was seeing some image of his past self, like he'd been thrown into some flashback or similar eighties-esque drama. The image staring back at him looked about seventeen, had the same eyes, the same ears, nose, mouth. But this body was no thinner than the one that he had so loathed and worked so hard to change. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, a few pounds seemed to have been added to keep up with his height.

There were other differences, too. His scalp looked like it had undergone a shave not too long ago, with only a light growth of dark hair still too thin to hide the skin of his head. A series of minor cuts had been stitch on his upper cheek. And a long, jagged scar ran from the wrist of his left arm and went all the way under the partially rolled up sleeve of the white shirt he was wearing.

For one numb moment, his mind refused to believe he was standing in front of a mirror. A moment of absence of thought, and then his brain was chucking out a list of plausible explanations; it was an abstract, life-sized photograph, it was actually a window with someone else standing on the other side, it was the height of technology for funhouse mirrors, distorting his image somehow into a nightmare version of himself.

He raised his left arm. Clearly-Not-Josh raised his right arm with him.

A mirror image.

His heart begin to pound. He looked at his own, real arm. There was the scar. He could see now it ran straight up to his inner-elbow. A jagged line of tissue skin that crinkled as he twisted his arm to look at it.

He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat.

If he had been capable of thinking, he would have been wondering if he'd gone crazy. He wasn't, though. He lost the ability. Dreamlike, he turned his hand and looked at the back of it. The same hand, he was sure. The same hand.

The image staring back at him from the mirror was clearly not him.

But it was Josh Nichols all the same.

He concentrated on breathing in and out, on the way it felt as he did. It was a different feeling, not coming as easily or as naturally as it usually did. He couldn't tell if it was because of the situation, the added weight, or some mixture of both. After what seemed like an eternity he lowered his hand.

"Oh, god," He said. "Oh, god, what's happening to me?"

A morbid feeling of curiosity drew his eyes to the bedroom door. Was this really the old apartment? Why was he here? What was _happening_?

And what else had changed?

The distance between the mirror and the door was five steps. He couldn't remember taking a single one of them as he hand rested on the doorknob. The surreal feeling of _normality_ was what overwhelmed him the most. There was nothing honestly dreamlike as he pulled the door open. There's was nothing truly odd as he walked down the narrow hallway, examining the pictures hung on the walls. He'd seen them before: baby Josh, first grade, middle school, early high school.

He entered the living room. Not much had changed since the last time he'd seen it. Same white couch, same fading carpet. The TV had been upgraded, and there was a relatively new looking armchair that sort of matched the couch. The balcony doors still showed the same semi-impressive view of the area. The phone… _The phone_.

He raced to the phone sitting on the side table next to the couch and yanked the cordless receiver off the hook with so much force he lost his balance and fell hard on his rump. He sat there stunned for a moment, considering the numbers he could dial. 911?

"_Yes, hello, officer, I seem to be in my old apartment in a body that's mine but totally not mine. Really."_

The thought made him laugh hysterically. It took a considerable amount of self control to stem the devastating laughter leaking from his mouth. _I have to keep it together_. He shook off the remaining giggles and took a deep breath, then started dialing the only number he could think to. He put the receiver to his ear and listened to the rings. One, two… _Come on, pick up. Pick up._ …Three, four.

"_Hello?_"

His breath caught in his chest. _Drake_. Immense relief washed over him.

"_Hello?_" Drake clipped, sounding annoyed.

"Drake. Drake, thank god, Drake…"

"_Hello? Who is this?_"

Josh took a deep breath. "Drake. It's Josh. I… I need… I don't know what's happening. Jesus, I don't know what's going on."

The was a long silence. Josh wondered if Drake was still on the line, and was about to ask when he started speaking again.

"_Josh who?_"

Josh's heart plummeted to his feet.

TBC

A/N: Been a while. Sorry about that, I get distracted. And I'm a procrastinator. ) But there ya go. Hope you liked it!


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